23.

“Lock up the store,” I said. “We need to talk.”

He walked out from behind the counter, crossed over to the door, hung up an “Out to Lunch” sign, and locked the door.

“Are you Covington or Newport police?” he asked.

“Other side of the river,” I said.

He nodded. “Yes, he lives there, doesn’t he?”

“For the moment,” I said. “I think the police will supply him with somewhat less luxurious living quarters.”

He frowned. “You say that as if you’re not one of them.”

I pulled out my license. “I’m working for the owner of the diamonds.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding again.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Yes, I suppose I’d better,” said Mela.

“Yes, I suppose you had.”

“I’ve known Mr. Delahunt for a few years. He bought his wife a lovely bracelet from me about, oh, three years ago. And twice since then he’s bought other unique items, but I don’t think they were for Mrs. Delahunt.”

“Probably not,” I agreed.

“Then last week he brought me the oddest thing,” said Mela.

“A cat’s collar?”

He nodded. “Studded with diamonds. Not rhinestones, not cheap imitations, but the real thing.”

“How many?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

“Ten,” he replied. “He asked me to take them off, so I did. He also asked me to use one in a ring.” He paused and lowered his voice, though we were the only two people in the store. “I think it was for his latest girlfriend.”

“It was,” I said. “I’ve seen it. Very nice work.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me ask you a question, Mr. Mela,” I said. “Did he show you proof of ownership, anything to suggest the diamonds were his?”

He suddenly looked very nervous. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I suspect that’s why you’re here.” He looked intently at me. “How much trouble is Mr. Delahunt in?” And then, “How much trouble am I in?”

“You’re not in any trouble at all if you cooperate,” I said and hoped I was telling the truth.

He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped some sweat from his face. “That’s a relief. I have certainly never knowingly broken any laws.”

“I realize your answer will just be an estimate,” I continued, “but based on your experience and expertise, how much would you say the diamonds were worth?”

He considered it for a moment. “Perhaps eighty-five to ninety thousand apiece. In a bull market, which we haven’t had since before Bush’s last year, perhaps a hundred thousand.”

“There’s no way they could possibly be worth more?”

“How much more?”

“A million apiece?”

He chuckled dryly. “Is that what Abner Delahunt told you?”

“I’ve never met the man,” I answered. “That’s what the original owner said they were worth.”

“He was lying or deluded,” said Mela.

“You’ve worked on a lot of million-dollar diamonds?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. Hell, I’d be afraid to work on them, as you say. But I’ve seen some and have actually appraised a pair for a family in Indian Hill.”

“They came all the way to Covington for an appraisal?”

He drew himself up to his full height. “I am Orestes Mela,” he said with all the dignity he could muster, which was considerable.

“No insult intended,” I assured him.

“None taken,” he lied graciously.

“So you took all ten diamonds off the collar,” I said. “One you made into a ring.”

“That’s not quite accurate. I had the ring in stock. I took out a faux stone the size of the diamond and replaced it.”

“Okay,” I said. “That accounts for one of the diamonds. What about the other nine?”

“Mr. Delahunt went out for lunch while I put the diamond in the ring and removed the rest. When he came back he asked me if I wanted to buy any of them. I said I couldn’t begin to pay market value and make a profit, but that I would take three of them for fifty thousand apiece, and he agreed on the spot. The other six I gave to him when he left with the ring.”

“And you still have the three you bought?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m afraid the police are going to confiscate them,” I said.

“I know,” he replied unhappily.

“And I very much doubt that Delahunt will be able to return your hundred and fifty thousand.”

“I gave him thirty thousand down and was to pay him thirty a month for the next four months.”

“So you’re not as bad off as you might be.”

“I made the transaction without proof of ownership. He swore he’d bring it in the next time he was at his office across the street. I’ve been there twice since then, but he hasn’t returned.” He looked at me, and I could see that he was actually shaking. “I don’t want to go to jail, Mr. Paxton. Believe me, I acted in good faith.”

“That’s not up to me to decide,” I said. “Hell, I don’t even know what the law is. But I’ll be happy to testify that you were open and aboveboard, that you hid nothing, and that you acted in good faith. I think going to his office will speak to your integrity, and the fact that you can turn over the three diamonds will certainly be in your favor.”

“Thank goodness!” he said, going a little weak in the knees and supporting himself on the counter. “You can’t know how worried I’ve been the past few days when he didn’t show up and I was unable to contact him. If I went to the police and he was either ill or legitimately detained . . .” He shook his head. “And if he truly didn’t have the papers, am I an accomplice?”

I laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Mr. Mela,” I said. Suddenly I smiled. “And I thought all jewelers had to worry about was getting robbed.”

He chuckled at that. “You wouldn’t believe all the things we worry about.”

“I’m starting to get an idea,” I said.

There was a brief silence.

“What now?” he asked.

“May I see the diamonds? I’d just like to see what three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of diamonds looks like.”

“Closer to a quarter million,” he said. “Come with me.”

We went into a back room, a very tidy office, where he kept a state-of-the-art safe. I looked away while he opened it and pulled out a little black velvet tray with three diamonds that looked just like the one Mitzi Cramer had on her finger.

“Impressive,” I said.

“And they were all on a cat’s collar,” he said, shaking his head in wonderment. “What if the cat had run off?”

“I gather she was never outside,” I answered. Until the night of the murder.

He reached into the safe and pulled something else out.

“Here,” he said. “You might as well have this. Or throw it out if you prefer.”

“What is it?” I asked as he held up a little leather strap.

“The collar,” he said. He indicated a shiny little tag. “It’s still got the license on.”

He handed it to me, I glanced at it briefly and stuck it in a pocket, he put the diamonds back in the safe and locked it.

“Now what?” he asked as we left the office and returned to the shop.

“Now I tell the cops I’m working with,” I said. “They’re on the Cincinnati side of the river, and the diamonds were stolen from a Cincinnati house. They’ll have to work it out with the Covington police to see who has jurisdiction over this part of the case.”

“This part of the case?” he repeated.

“It’s about more than the diamonds,” I said, and told him about the murder. He looked even more nervous, if possible. “Anyway, somebody will be by in the next day or two to take your statement and pick up the goods.”

“The goods?” he repeated with a grimace. “That makes them sound so common. Maybe they’re not worth a million apiece, or even quite a hundred thousand, but they are damned fine stones.”

“Please tell the diamonds that I meant no insult,” I said.

He laughed at that, then shook my hand. “You’ve taken a huge load off my mind, Mr. Paxton.”

“That’s what us Humphrey Bogart types do,” I replied with a smile.

And we also, I decided, put in for the finder’s fee before our less fussy partner can walk in, shoot the place up, and run off with the diamonds and anything else that catches his eye.

Marlowe wasn’t there, of course, but in retrospect I knew exactly what his expression would have been.